Kintsukuroi
by Kumiko Fukuda
Summary: Male!OC. Pre-series!AU. Drabble-format. The philosophy behind broken pottery barely held by golden lacquer altogether is to show that the broken and deformed are beautiful.
1. 1-10

**Kintsukuroi**

**Disclaimer:** Nurarihyon no Mago belongs to Shiibashi Hiroshi-_sensei_. I only own the OC, not even ounce of the storyline.

**Warnings:** "OC dies and is reborn in Nurarihyon no Mago universe" trope. Male!OC. Appearances of several OCs. Slight slash in later chapters. Drabble-format. Timeline inconsistency. Inspired by XxZuiliu's _Polaris_.

* * *

><p>1.<p>

It was dawn in the day, but the news had been traveling like wildfire throughout the entire branches.

_Make the way for the damned._

The Yakushi Ippa-Gumi had been in uproar since morning when the news was announced by the courtesy of Hebidayu: there was a heir. Whispers traded from mouth to mouth, that their Young Master was unmistakably beautiful—rivaling even the Lord's earlier years himself.

_Oh, will you stay for the rest?_

Hebidayu himself only stated in a rather leveled attitude, but every youkai could pinpoint the hint of pride in his voice. "Beautiful, but still fragile. Now, off with those mouth of yours. Do not disturb Yakushi-sama and his newborn son with all of your loud voices."

_Shush with those lies, dear._

A heir meant many things — another years of serving under Yakushi's name; a rising opportunity to manipulation with carefully hidden strings; alliances with other potential clans with marriage; but one was certain. A heir meant assurance to the survival of the Clan.

Survival of a cursed Clan.

_None but Death himself would claim._

For most, that would be the most important. Other things would come later. They wanted see how this _Young Master _of theirs would turn out, after all.

* * *

><p>2.<p>

Toru wasn't what the majority of Yakushi Ippa's members expected.

If anyone actually dared to describe Young Master for what he truly resembled in words, they would reply with synonymous murmurs of odd and weak. Odd, and weak. Not just odd. But weak as well. They could come up with the most beautiful of descriptions, but the implications were enough. Even with the fear of poison, words still traveled fast—_"his skin was _Yuki-Onna'_s, his figure an almost shattered glass"_—and now, most allies of Yakushi Ippa-Gumi had known about him.

The fragile son of Yakushi; Toru.

It wasn't just because of his wraith-like appearances—no, because the species was infamous for their fragility indeed. Their Young Master was another kind of frail, and it had become clear the first minutes of his feather-dipping ceremony when they heard the coughs, and the Young Master had never came out from his bedroom ever since.

Servants were summoned instead to behind the shoji doors; most were baffled to see platinum-blonde, flowing hair instead of khaki like of Yakushi-sama's. And there were also those eyes. Those opaque-grey eyes that the Young Master possessed both looked far too ancient for someone in his age, a hatchling. Some, who had taken comfort in the crimson eyes of their Lord, had been unnerved by the cold and almost indifferent gaze of the Young Master's.

There were also the rumors of feathers never turning to poison, after the ceremony was held. Speculations soon flew—and many had agreed that it must because of the Young Master's strength. Or rather, the lack of it.

And leaving the situation to that, servants grew distant and disappointed with their odd Young Master.

It would be a long time before he broke from his recluse, if the illness was any sign for all of them.

* * *

><p>3.<p>

Yakushi didn't know what to do when his son failed the ceremony. In all long history of Yakushi Ippa line, such incident never happened—much less from the supposed inheritor of the Gumi. But Yakushi was an adaptable youkai; something like this only piqued his curiosity before he could just leave it be. There was always a first time for everything, and his descendant just happened to be the anomaly.

He couldn't help but to stare at the cup while hoping that his dulling vision wronged him in the end.

Feathers floated on the surface of the translucent liquid inside the red sakazuki, but none turned colors. They were still pristine blond with streaks of black, although indeed soaked wet from the dipping process.

And from the spot where a crane with platinum-blond feathers once stood, was now occupied by a still-developing adult with the same color for hair and a pair of lightly colored grey for eyes.

It mustn't because of the youki—no. Toru had probably the strongest youki in the house of Yakushi, if the adult form was any implication. Even his first human form was a sickly young teen with a penchant of nagging his late father. No, Toru's youki must be _humongous_ for him to turn into an adult.

As humongous as the Shikoku youkai; Tearai-Oni.

Yakushi's concern took a sudden turn to the worst when his son barfed up blood.

A basin was quickly fetched to his side, offered to contain his son's vomited blood—the son whose hands clutched his neck as if trying to hold down those blood—and he peeled those hands from its clutches (it's best to let it be, Toru _was_ a part of Yakushi clan, after all). There was a strange feeling of helplessness as he sat down beside his heir, patting his gaunt back with all the gentleness he could muster.

It reminded him of a time back then, when his father's condition was the same.

(The flash of red entered his periphery, as the coughs roared in his ears—

_"Yakushi-sama... Your father..."_

_is gone._

He never stopped mourning for his father ever since.)

"Take it easy," a tender murmur, as his hand soothingly massaged the back of his son, the other holding the basin up to Toru.

Soon, Yakushi froze up with his right hand still resting on its place.

_No, no, this is the place they would—_

Its place between those jutted shoulder blades.

Between shoulder blades, there should be a lump formed from the wings.

Yakushi found only emptiness.

* * *

><p>4.<p>

When a Yakushi Ippa member managed to turn into their human-like appearance, they still gained their wings—although barely visible even for most youkais' eyes.

Yakushi's own wings were buried underneath heaps of indigo-colored kimono and his favorite midnight-blue haori. Weak, poisonous, draining his own life-force—but still there.

Toru's wings were all but gone. Gonegone_gone_— like they were never meant to be there in the first place.

Yakushi keeled over in tears, yukata drenched with sweats that glistened on his body under the dim-lit moonlight night.

What was happening to his son...?

* * *

><p>5.<p>

Toru woke up with a pounding headache in his head, a bonfire in his throat, and invisible chains clamping his arms and legs.

He took a deep breath—wincing when the deep rattle resounded throughout his lungs as hisses escaped his nose. Painful. Too painful.

"I-"

He stopped as his own voice grated over his throat like the sound of screeching metal. Like the sound of a blank brake that couldn't be stopped. Like the sound of what was before an unfathomable force threw him across the ground and onto a pole, snapping his spine into two different things.

It brought back unwanted memories.

"You're awake." A tired voice murmured.

Toru glanced across the room to a beautiful man with age and lack of sleep hanging below his crimson eyes, but nonetheless smiled when he realized that Toru's attention was diverted to him. Toru noted absentmindedly—_the father from this world_.

He nodded, because the fire was burning too hotly inside his throat.

("Make it go away, Papa!"

_a dying screech—_

"MAKE IT GO AWAY!")

"Here, drink this."

It poured an awful odor from the suspicious-looking liquid. But Toru complied, even as he had a thoughtful grimace marring his face and pinched his nose before drinking the slimy remedy. Its taste was even fouler than its looks, but he appreciated the soothing feeling it created to loosen the knot in his throat.

There was a tinkling laugh from the father from this world, and Toru looked up to him, still with scrunched face and all. He wasn't quite appreciative seeing the older male grinning at him in amusement from drinking the foul remedy. His crimson eyes glittered with similar amusement in his posture. "In each moments I have to drink that," his voice was silkily alluring. Toru wondered if men were also attracted to his father. "I also have to pinch my nose. Ugh, the stench." He shuddered with feeling.

A smile formed instinctively on his lips; _what an odd man_.

"What's in this thing?" He stared into the moss-colored liquid, finding only tea leaves and several other things he couldn't name. His voice wasn't as hoarse as earlier, to Toru's joy. And his body didn't pulse with too much pain as when he woke.

It was... wonderful.

The father from this world idly shrugged his shoulders, with the care of someone who had nothing else in the world. Toru liked people with those attitude; easy preys. "Just something that was picked from our family's long-history of pain. Don't worry, I'll teach you about it." An elegant frown appeared on his lips, like he had just thought of something unpleasant. It disappeared soon just before Toru could read anything more into it—much to his chagrin. He didn't dismiss it as lighting gone wrong by the moon.

"How...," there was a hesitant note between the silence. "How do you feel? Oh, and before you drink the medicine as well."

Toru didn't feel lying with this man.

"Awful." He decided, eyes sliding to meet those crimson eyes. Beautiful, mesmerizing. It reminded him of—

(_Redredredredred_

Blood and a _dying_ screech

pain and _too many pain_)

Toru sucked in a deep breath, holding his cup tightly like it was his anchor. And the father of this world was beside him in instant, with the speed that Toru didn't know he possessed. It must not be possible.

It mustn't.

He ignored the murmurs of comfort into his ears and instead focused on the warmth from this man's hold. Toru leaned into the touch, quivering from something that wasn't the chill from the moon.

Cars honking in his ears and a splatter of red entered his vision for a flash.

"Awful." He mumbled, feeling the hold around him tightened just a bit. "Awful."

But it's okay now, because he could hold onto this man.

* * *

><p>6.<p>

"Listen to me, Toru. Our family, Yakushi Ippa-Gumi, has been financially and medicinally supporting the whole Kantou region for the Nura-Gumi. The knowledge and prowess of medicine has been passed down into our generations for years. And it's now my time to pass down my knowledge to you."

"..."

"Toru? Are you listening?"

"Ah..."

"Hmm. His body must have been incredibly weak if he couldn't handle the strain to that knowledge alone. This might prove to be quite troublesome."

* * *

><p>7.<p>

_Yakushi Ippa._

Toru had heard of that name from another lifetime—a lifetime where his name was not Toru and he had a little sister who always beckoned him to watch that very supernatural series she liked. That was also the lifetime where his late father bashed the skull of someone else, and thus resulting for a capture and throwing him behind the iron bars.

_Yakushi Ippa._

The clan of which the bird youkai who became the sworn brother of Nura-Gumi's Sandaime belonged to—and now him. Toru didn't know if he should feel mournful or glad because now he knew the reason for his weak constitution.

_Speaking of which_, Toru thought idly, casting a bored glance on the herbs he had to memorize in front of him. _Where is Zen?_

And then, his body went rigid.

_What year is this?_

"Father." He made sure to pronounce it slowly, giving the right pressure here and there to unnerve the man in front of him. He almost slipped a smile when a startled expression made its way in his father's face.

"Yes, Toru?"

He tilted his head to side. "What day is this?"

Beside the slightly raised eyebrow, Toru didn't catch any suspicion in his father's face. The older man dropped his herbs and followed him, tilting his head slightly to side as he hummed. Toru almost let a smile slipped into his face again. _Odd man_.

"I am sure it is around March 18th in 1879."

No.

Toru's eyes widened in a minor fraction of second, before they reverted to normal as he tried to compose himself.

March 18th in 1879.

It's not the grandson's time yet.

"I... I see." If his sire noticed the slightly trembling note in the beginning of the sentence, then he didn't comment about it.

Instead, the sandy-haired man only snatched his stack of herbs again, before pointing them at his direction. "Okay! Let us do a simple test, right now!" His grin and enthusiasm threw Toru aback.

He watched the older man with widened opaque-grey eyes, before reverting them again.

_Odd man_.

"I am ready, Father."

* * *

><p>8.<p>

Hebidayu had an epiphany.

Hebidayu had this epiphany during accompanying his Master on his usual morning walk around the district. It was a beautiful dusk, with darkness still clouding around them and no stars as well. The perfect dusk for youkais to play before the first rays of morning light.

(What if he killed the Master's son, so that the great Yakushi Ippa-Gumi wouldn't get distracted by an insolent, moreover _weak_ child?)

"Hebidayu."

The snake-youkai stopped deadtrack behind his Master, almost nervous by his sudden call. His Master couldn't possibly have any mind-reading abilities, could he?

"Yes, Yakushi-sama?"

Wind breezed across them, swiping both of their forms in an almost flirtatious manner. In normal circumstances, Hebidayu would possibly gave his Master a glance (which actually looked more similar to a love-struck gaze if they asked the other servants, but Hebidayu had vehemently denied the possibilities of him in love with his Master. Now that would be atrocious, wouldn't it?) if it wasn't for a series of coughs that was similar to the Young Master's. He immediately scurried over, casting out a handkerchief while his scaled hands rested on the bony back of his Master.

After the coughs died down—leaving Hebidayu to stay away in quite a distance from the Master—there was a tired laugh.

(Hebidayu's chest immediately clenched with something he couldn't place his finger on. He immediately cast a cursory glance around his surroundings to confirm any enemies. There were none.

_A heartburn, then?_

But for sure, he didn't want to hear those kind of laugh again from his Master.)

"I apologize for always troubling you."

The snake-youkai shook his head, bowing deeply in appreciation. "It is no trouble at all, Yakushi-sama." After all, he was his Master.

There was another tired laugh again.

Hebidayu almost flinched from the fatigue that plagued his Master's form these days.

"Please do not lie to me, Hebidayu." His Master looked at him with crinkled eyes and sheepish smile. Hebidayu felt like he had seen the sun instead. "It is alright to express your feelings, we have been together for a quite long time after all."

(There again. The sudden clenching feeling in his chest.

Hebidayu decided that it was pleasant, instead of suffocating as the earlier.)

_"But I was not lying, Master."_

"I apologize for this, Yakushi-sama. But I was not lying when I said that it wasn't troubling." Hebidayu tried to press the concern and truth into his words, watching them seep into his Master's ears as his eyes turned content from the sudden declaration. "I am deeply humbled for having the chance to serve you." He hesitated for a moment before adding again. "And the Clan. And it would rejoice me if you also place your trust on me, Yakushi-sama."

Hebidayu bowed.

A moment lasted again, and Hebidayu grew rather nervous when he heard his Master's footsteps now closing on him. What would happen? What would happen? What would happen?

"Thank you for your service, Hebidayu."

Hebidayu's eyes widened as the Master simply placed his hands on his shoulder and straightened his perfect 90 degrees form. Stunned, he looked straight to Yakushi's smiling eyes.

"I am delighted to have you as my servant. Now, now." He laughed almost obnoxiously, confusing Hebidayu for a moment from the change in attitude. "Do not be so stiff! It must had pained your back to perform such perfect bow."

Hebidayu dumbly nodded.

"Now, listen to me." The grip on his shoulders twisted tightly, Hebidayu felt a tingle of surprise himself because the Master couldn't possibly have that much strength. Then, it turned rather lax, as if hearing his heart's content. At this point, Hebidayu was really afraid of the possibility that his Master could read minds.

"I want you to dedicate yourself to Toru, as if you're dedicating yourself to me."

Hebidayu widened his slanted eyes in surprise as a bubble of protest almost escaped him.

"Hebidayu." The grip turned tight again. Hebidayu found himself mesmerized by the crimson eyes in front of him.

(It reminded him of spilled blood on ground, a past when his clan reached the glory with carnage and slaughter.

But it was a long time ago, when his Master's father was still a hatchling and he served for another ancestor.

Peace had blinded all of them now.

Yet Hebidayu sometimes wanted to spill all those blood and sever his enemies' heads as the old times had given him the pleasure of.

When would the Clan reach a glory such as that anymore? Such glory where his Master wouldn't be defied anymore?)

"Despite your guesses, Toru is not weak." At flash of surprise that his face betrayed, Yakushi let out a chuckle. "Yes, I know your conversations. But Toru is not weak. If he was weak, then I would be shattered already."

Hebidayu opened his mouth to protest;_ but that child of yours could barely walk and could barely speak outside the room—_

"His youki, Hebidayu." His Master's eyes turned glazed, as his voice was only a notch up from a whisper. "His youki is a powerful thing, Hebidayu. He has an incredibly tremendous-sized Fear." The Master shuddered, as if in awe. "He could be the path for our glory, Hebidayu."

At this, the snake-youkai perked up.

Glory... of the the Clan?

...

"I understood, Yakushi-sama."

* * *

><p>9.<p>

He was born in a wrong time, in a cursed clan, in a dying body.

He was born with the wrong knowledge, the wrong memories, the wrong soul.

Would it be a surprise if everyone kept a passable distance from him?

* * *

><p>10.<p>

Toru had sensed a strange omen, sparked by the way his sire and Hebidayu had been eyeing him these days.

Hebidayu was no surprise to him. Ambitious, cunning, ruthless. The snake-youkai who would betray his Clan somewhere in the future was quite the living epitome of his desire.

Or was it just because he merely lived to fulfill his own desire? Was that the reason he almost killed his descendant later on?

Oh, the mere thought of it made his blood almost _boil_.

Opaque-grey eyes flickered dangerously, scrutinizing the two figures who just came back from the earlier morning stroll they had. The Master and the servant. The image reminded him of a princess and its beast.

His lips curved into a cold smile.

_Speak of the devils_.

"Oh, Toru?"

Warm, warm hands helping him up, hefting his weight to the sire's himself as he was being escorted to his room. From the edge of his periphery, he glanced at the unnerved Hebidayu, who immediately excused himself to leave the father and the son.

"Urk, you're actually lighter than you look. Why are you up so early? You could catch another illness, dear."

_Why are you outside of your room, son? I wasn't expecting you to be able to move at all._

Toru lightly released his father's embrace as he settled down on his futon. His father cautiously edged around the room, mixing some herbs—_ginkgo leaves extract, mullein, black tea, fennel, mint, rose hips, elderflower, hops_; Toru recalled instantly—for the usual problem. He waited patiently, stretching some toes to relieve the ache. Every breath he took was a hiss throughout his lungs, but as long as they weren't rattling then Toru didn't have any problem with it.

He spared another impassive glance to the father, now offering him the usual remedy.

"Aw, come on, son!" A glitter to those crimson eyes. "Do not leave me hanging over here."

Toru lazily extended his bony arms, taking away the cup from his father's hold.

_Yakushi the 15th._ His mind supplied.

Toru drank the remedy.

His sire had been eyeing him with something akin to expectation these days. A slightly cruel thing to do, remembering his weakness and lack of strength.

He especially despised the latter.

Oh, what he would give if only he could be something more than a cripple like his current condition.

(But he **_could_** be something more.)

"Toru?"

He wanted to be something so much more than this.

He wanted to be stronger.

"Son?"

Feathers flew like a hurricane. Not his; his father's. He recalled the softly lapping wind on his smooth cheeks.

There was a cacophony ringing in his ears.

He breathed—and the room exploded.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

I am sorry.

No, not really. Hehe.

This is a project that I'm carefully working on. Yes, I am aware that it's not consistent. That's why it's in drabble-format, I'm trying to write disjointed scenes that _hopefully _will make sense in later chapters. The setting is around the time Yamabuki left Rihan, which is sometime after the Edo period. I am also aware that I have little to no experience about Japan in these times, so critics and suggestions are deeply appreciated!

**Q: WHY IS HEBIDAYU IN LOVE WITH YAKUSHI?**

A: Um. Well. They indeed have an extreme relationship that somehow defies all nature. I mean, snake and bird don't really mix together, but somehow this one did. So hey!

Kidding, kidding. I'm just adding some spice to the story. It will really explain why Hebidayu is kinda loyal to the Yakushi Ippa group. He loved Yakushi, but something happened to him, so he diverted the love to the Clan. Makes sense?

**Q: WHERE ARE THE OTHER CHARACTERS?**

A: Patience. Surely, they will show up in the end.

Kindly leave your thoughts about this fic? Thanks!


	2. 11-20

**Kintsukuroi**

**Disclaimer:** Nurarihyon no Mago belongs to Shiibashi Hiroshi-_sensei_. I only own the OC, not even ounce of the storyline.

**Warnings:** "OC dies and is reborn in Nurarihyon no Mago universe" trope. Male!OC. Appearances of several OCs. Slight slash in later chapters. Drabble-format. Timeline inconsistency. Inspired by XxZuiliu's _Polaris_.

* * *

><p>11.<p>

At some morning in the Yakushi Ippa headquarters, a part of the household exploded in a tiny hurricane.

* * *

><p>12.<p>

_Wind._

A force so _horrid_ that brought devastation and salvation.

A piece of the five elements which _swayed_ creations to land.

A part that was _born_ within the eldest son of Yakushi.

Yakushi _should_ had known. Really, he should had known about it.

Because in the place where the poison should had been, a wind replaced its constituent. Sculpting and forming and breathing; Toru was a sedimentation brought life. He was born a Yakushi, but his soul yearned for what he could had been more: soaring in the air like a free bird.

Yakushi should had at least considered that.

Fate had made his eldest son sacrifice something that created the distinction of their clan. But in return, She gave him something more powerful than what a weak youkai like him could imagine.

That's alright. Yakushi found it alright. He had always thought that poisons were low tactics, in a way. A change would be very nice to the clan.

Toru, was a _change_.

* * *

><p>13.<p>

Toru breathed.

And it's not just about taking oxygens from air and returned them with carbon dioxide, like what he had learned before in Biology classes back then in his past life. Not just an exchange of whatever atom particles the air contained—no. It's so much more than that.

Toru breathed.

And it's not just about expanding and filling his weak lungs with air—because creatures of darkness never really required such substance to extend their life's promises. It's also not about relieving the stress in his body and to curb into the human realm for help.

Toru breathed.

And it's about what he took from the universe, and what the universe would be willing to give him.

Toru breathed and—

—for once, the universe didn't hurt him.

* * *

><p>14.<p>

Air.

There was air.

There was air filling the core of his substance, filling his entire self into the salve emptiness and it was filling him to the brim of his very life-force.

It was a lot of air.

But he decided that he liked it.

(After all,

how could you

hate

parts of yourself

and still be intact

afterwards?)

The wind billowed around his long hair, giving the silky strands caresses that would rival a mother's loving caress to her baby. In a way, the air was his mother—if the stories from his father were to be held true. It was supposed to carry him when he couldn't even stand; become his wings when he didn't even have one; and help him breath when his body gave up.

The wind—the air—the element; it wasn't supposed to choke him like _this_.

His hands were already holding his constricting throat as he keeled over in pain. It had hurt. It was hurting him.

Hurt. Pain. Burn. Burn_burn**burn**_—

_Let it go._

He paid no heed to the gentle, timid voice, because it was so painful; something was forcing itself out from him and it hurt—

_Let. It. Go._

The force underneath his touches grew larger, like a brewing hurricane baby itching to wreak havoc on Pacific Ocean. It giggled at him and caressed him fondly. He almost growled at the thought of becoming less than now. So, his answer was no.

N.

O.

_LET. IT. GO._

A selfish part of his child side was clutching to his newfound power. And hadn't let go. No, it said 'no' and my answer would be a series of 'no'.

The adult part released his power with a mournful frown.

* * *

><p>15.<p>

Yakushi stared wide-eyed at the pandemonium across his eyes.

Understatement: the room was a wreck. Not just a mess, but a total wreck—as in Takarabune-type of wreck. Mahogany cabinets strewn at the tatami floors, and most of the floors were already hung outside of his son's chamber. All of them were askew! Not just several ointment bottles cracked into pieces and Yakushi was glad that none of those were poisonous. Shoji doors slid open, ceilings cracked and its rubbles revealed hundreds of weak ayakashi with their eyes glaring white in the darkness of shadows.

And in the middle of the pandemonium: sat Toru with disheveled appearance and unblinking, wide eyes.

_My son did this._

Then, Yakushi's crimson ones trained at a roll of bandage which was flung at air—and now crisscrossed across the crown of his son's head.

A quiet silence filled the awkward air.

_My son did this._

And that was the limit.

Yakushi broke into a hysterical laughter, uncaring that there was a hole in his son's room, nor that his son just destroyed a part of the Yakushi Ippa's East Wing. He laughed because he could, and he would, and he knew that underneath that frail body was a monstrous strength which would pave a way to an equality between clans.

Between Yakushi Ippa and other upper echelons clans.

* * *

><p>16.<p>

Most of the times after he had discovered his harness over the wind, Toru had a dream.

A dream, since it was the same one every night.

He could not reverse his situation, unlike what he could with his power.

In his dream, he stood at the edge of a precipice, feeling the familiar element lapping wildly at his figure and snaked around his clothes. The waves cascaded and crashed at the moss-covered crags and clams-strewn reefs on bottom of the precipice. He didn't smell anything in the dream, he didn't even remember what color was the sea, nor the scenery he had seen.

But the wind...

He had felt it.

He remembered kneeling down even though he forced his body to curl and uncurl; get up and _run._ But he knelt down to the pillow of grass below him, simply bent down to see the swirling and smiling pool of water.

And then, the ground he stood at fell and the dream twisted into a nightmare.

Time slowed down as the turbulent wind by his sides roared in existence—twirling, leaping, laughing venomously into his ears as he cascaded down down down into the swirling vortex below. The wind didn't answer to his calls, nor became his wings. He opened his mouth in panic, hand reaching out for someone to help—

_please help me please_

A pair of red eyes glinted before him, grinning in slack pleasure before twisting into a fury unlike fires of hell—

("_Young Master_!")

A warm hand.

A strong grip.

It pulled him out.

* * *

><p>17.<p>

Azami was panicking.

She had been strolling on the West Wing garden, enjoying the beautiful, moonlit flowers with differing scents that usually would do their tricks and put her into a serene slumber. Since the Young Master's 'incident' which caused the destruction of East Wing, he had been transferred to the West Wing to ensure better view—although the relevant fact that the servants' quarter was also placed there.

(The Young Master didn't seem to mind it, though.

And that's all that mattered, right?)

Azami felt blush rising to her cheeks as she recalled the Young Master's smooth voice, speaking forethought constructed words and they rolled on his tongue as easily as she was taking a stroll. But still...

Oddness and weaknesses and _rumors_.

Azami had heard of the later; more often raging these days than before. Whispers and murmurs and hesitant glances headed towards the Young Master. She couldn't help but to feel bothered as well.

And once she felt bothered, she would avoid said bothering person.

She let out a deep sigh, mumbling words from her barely restrained mind; just as she passed by the Young Master's chamber. Azami paused immediatelly in her mid-step, swishing to side. The looming shoji doors seemed to look bigger in the shadows of the moon. She suppressed an urge to flee—as a thought crossed her mind.

Azami blushed furiously; trying to swat away the thought like Hebidayu trying to squish a mosquito.

It didn't work.

Giving in to her curiosity, she inched closer to the chamber, swiping her panicked eyes side-to-side before determining that nobody in the household would notice. Nobody would notice. Nobody would notice. Nobody would notice.

She chanted the mantra in her head, more determined as her hand extended toward the shoji door. So close to victory!

The material felt cold and rough on her small, yet calloused hand. She took a deep breath and slid the door.

As a child, she would usually play hide-and-seek with Tsubame and Koneko and sometimes even Makie. She was fast, agile, unnaturally so for her age. She would do all the hidings and one of the aforementioned children would play the seeking. The rush of excitement and glee of never being discovered was one of the reasons she enjoyed the game especially so.

Azami had the same feeling when she saw her Young Master's sleeping form.

She had known alright: about the ethereal beauty gifted to her Young Master. On the rare occasions she would risk her self-esteem to compare her beauty to of the Young Master's, she would discover that each days, the Young Master's delicate features were too contrast with her own long, black hair and olive eyes and tanned skin. Heaven and earth; that's what they were side to side, considering both beauty and social status.

However... simply looking straight at such beauty like this...!

Her own musings were cut short when she heard shuffling clothes from her Young Master. After calming down the frantic, erratical beatings from her chest, she looked at the curled form of her Young Master. Worry immediately colored her features, strengthened more when she saw a hand sprung from the covers as if reaching for something—

"Help."

Olive eyes widened.

The voice was a murmur, a weak murmur, but she heard it nonetheless. Like a dart she was immediately at her Young Master's side, ignoring her own clothing and the circumstances that had to be explained later on.

"Young Master! Young Master!"

The breathings grew shallow, and Azami's blood ran cold. She grasped the protruded hand and held it close to her chest, almost letting out a surprised gasp when the hand felt cold, so cold to her touch.

As cold as ice.

It made her more determined.

"Young Master!"

And at the last call, opaque-grey eyes snapped open in a clouded fear that Azami found so, so wrong; before neutralizing. They switched into the indifferent mask her Young Master usually wore, scrutinizing his entire room until those cold eyes rested on her. And then to the hand holding her own. They darkened in confusion to a considerable amount before returning to her.

The grip tightened.

Azami preferred to have the ground swallow her up right now in front of the Young Master. Mark her words.

* * *

><p>18.<p>

"Let me recall back the events occurred as so how you have spoken of it."

Azami shuffled her feet together, waiting from her incoming judgement. Silently she prayed for the Young Master to release her by his mercy. He was as scary as he was pretty!

Feeling the boring eyes on her skull, Azami lowered more of her head of the ground.

"Please do look up."

Azami froze. Did she hear that right...?

An impatient sigh. The young maid had the barest time to react as the Young Master's hand extended forward and simply made her chin tilt upward. Thus making her face the Young Master's rather gentle gaze.

Blood rushed immediately to her cheeks and with a startled jolt, the Young Master released her chin in sudden surprise. His wide eyes returned to their normal state in no time, but Azami found herself still staring at the Young Master's face. She just couldn't seem to have the strength for tearing her eyes from the Young Master, even as the raven-haired ayakashi knew exactly the exact punishment for such impudence.

"That's better."

The Young Master nodded after gaining several satisfaction in observing her, then began. Azami couldn't help but also to compare the melodic lilt at the Young Master's softly-spoken words to the Master's own excited tone—which always had the right happiness and amusement here and there. Feeling herself blush from the thought and the Young Master's recalls of the events, she inched a bit farther to ease her private space.

"Is that it?"

The young maid nodded, a bit timidly. It wasn't everyday the servants could talk (and actually talked) to the Young Master! Oh, she went giddy at this, imagine how Tsubame would react when she heard about the incident!

"Ah." Azami immediately went to meet the Young Master's rather troubled eyes. "I apologize for being such a nuisance for you, this night."

Young Master?

Nuisance?

Even when she thought and gossiped about the Young Master's extremely frail condition with the others in the kitchen, hell would freeze first before the maid had thought of the Young Master disturbing her.

"Nonono!" She hurriedly explained, gesticulating to emphasize her panicked words. "Young Master has never been a nuisance for all of us! I am especially glad to have been a sort of help to you, Young Master!"

Something unreadable flickered in those stone-cold eyes, diminishing as quickly as it had arrived. Azami squirmed under the leveled gaze of the Young Master's, almost feeling like she could run anytime when the Young Master made any moves.

"I see. I thank you for your help, then."

Just the right time to see the Young Master graced her with a ghost of smile.

Azami melted to a puddle of goo—inwardly.

"Could you just call me Toru? All with the 'Young Master' is too stiff, although I appreciate your respect to me."

Azami regained to her senses and objected—hard. "No."

"No?" The Young Master regarded her with an elegantly raised eyebrow.

Azami bobbed her head up and down.

"Toru-sama, at least?"

Toru-sama.

Azami quickly averted her gaze as she tested the softly-spoken words to her tongue. "Toru-sama." A hesitation. She dispelled such reaction when the Young Master bloomed into a small smile for her. "Toru-sama." She repeated, louder.

"I would like you to call me such way, ah..."

"Azami." She quickly gave the Young Master her name, beaming brightly.

She went brighter when the man in front her immediately repeated with no hesitation. "Azami-san, then." He gave another ghostly smile. "It is a strong name. I like it."

And thus, heaven and earth met.

With the sealed word on both their lips, Azami decided to become the earth for this man in front of her. She would nurture and ground him, she would make flowers blossom and wither for this man in front of her. And always—towards the future, day, dawn, tomorrow; she'd look up to him like earth would look up to heaven.

_Soar free to the sky, Young Master. Ah, no._

Toru-_sama_.

* * *

><p>19.<p>

Yakushi eyed his son in slight curiosity. "You know of the young maid?"

Said aforementioned maid caught his stare in the middle of her wave and promptly ducked in embarrassment. Yakushi laughed loudly and gave another wave of his own—grinning almost wildly when the shy girl returned the wave in hesitation, patiently waiting for an answer in his son.

A quick silence. He smiled fondly of the silence which had become a part of their intertwined lives. Sometimes he could read the meaning of the silence from the previous subject they had discussed. Most of the time, he couldn't.

The gods knew how difficult his son could be at most times.

"I know of her. She was helpful and nice. Her name is Azami."

...

The gods had heard his prayers!

Yakushi praised whatever omnipotent beings up there who could change his son's usually uncaring and almost verbally demeaning attitude. That would be the first time Yakushi had ever heard of his son uttering more words than what he usually would produce. And to speak of a girl, nonetheless...

The glare of red-crimson eyes trained on the young maid's crouching figure. She's interesting, that for sure... Another thought sprung into the Master's head before he could even help it.

Could it be?

Could it be that—

That his son...

Toru was in love?!

"Father, why are you gaping?"

Yakushi immediately snapped his jaw shut and laughed sheepishly—sweating under the strain of knowledgeable, grey eyes. He rubbed his head under the scrutiny. "No, nothing, nothing quite important of sorts."

Those grey eyes narrowed the slightest margin—clearly unbelieving him.

"Alright, alright." The man laid up his hands in surrender. "I just want to know if there is a possibility of you being attracted to our beautiful maid, Azami, here?"

His son raised an eyebrow at him, but he was still dejected from the almost nil reactions he had invoked from his son. Another silence filled their conversation, and this time Yakushi could pin the uncomfortable air surrounding both of them; all were of his own.

"Father, are you sick?"

Yakushi immediately pasted a dubious expression to his features. "Huh?"

A grey eye twitched. "Father," his son continued, diplomatically. Yakushi felt like crying proud tears. "You should know that I have no interest in pursuing mates right now, not when I am still so young."

A pause.

"You do know that, don't you?"

Another pause.

"I am actually hoping to find my own partner in this life, and not being arranged by and with anyone. If you were to set me up with a certain someone, my fear is only that I couldn't love them as much as they loved me."

Yakushi was rendered speechless.

"Father, are you listening?"

For the second time in that noon, Yakushi closed his gaping mouth and gazed at his son with a new look.

Azami, huh...?

He would give her his regards later.

* * *

><p>20.<p>

When Azami appeared into his life, the dream stopped.

The wind had grown versatile under his touch, not as growling and biting as before. It had cooperated with him, just like he had cooperated with the wind.

Toru watched as he twisted the air around his fingers into a tiny whirlwind.

_Life is a storm_. A long storm, with several hurricanes and chances of sunshine rays sneaking into the dusted world filled with too many things.

He had remembered it from a past-life literary.

He found it quite fitting with his current life-story.

The tiny whirlwind whooped in excitement, dancing merrily in his hand like a spinning top. Toru felt the force was getting uncontrollable and volatile and—in a flash of slight fear—he clenched his hand shut. Whirlwind plummeted out weakly as a soft gust of air, pouring an odd, medicinal fragrance which coated the room not too soon after.

He stared at his clenched fist, eyebrows taut in concentration and eyes narrowing in slight exasperation. With a small sigh, he gave life to another tiny whirlwind—whirred back to life as it now sat in expectation on his hand.

_Father, Hebidayu, Azami. And now you are expecting me to do something about this?_

Tory let the wind loose.

It fell of his hands with a quick hiss and danced; up and down, corners to corners, leaping, twisting, turning, moving. For Toru, it felt like a mock: _you, my maker, a youkai who gave me life and **you** couldn't even **walk**._

In irritation, he dismissed the wind. The room felt empty without its uplifting presence, a curtain of silence layered atop turmoils and turmoils and more turmoils.

Toru wheezed a cough, hand clutching the hem of his kimono as a sting flashed in his throbbing chest.

If you couldn't even control your most powerful ally, then how could you pave the way to Glory?

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

Wow. It's a hard chapter to write. As you can see, this is one hell of disjointed pieces.

(LIKE A BROKEN POTTERY RIGHT COUGH COUGH LOOK AT THE TITLE COUGH)

Anyways, thanks for those who have supported Kintsukuroi until now! I hope you're satisfied with this piece I write. :D

By the way, anyone notice the change in summaries?


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